God is My Centripetal Force

As I lay in bed and contemplated the state of my relationship with God, the phrase that kept coming to mind was "centripetal force."  I had a vague recollection of what the phrase means (something related to physics), but I wasn't sure if it would end up being the right word to describe the relationship that I hold so dear and yet confounds me in so many ways--and that has been rocked by pains inflicted by the church, my own uncertainties and questions, and years of chronic illness.

Despite past wounds, I still believe that God is good and is the truest, richest source of love.  I do not think of Him and the church as one in the same.  I think of the church as an organization made up of flawed people, doing their best to live out what they think is God's will.  Sometimes I think churches do uncover and encounter God's will, and I believe that Christians do a great deal of good in the world.  Other times, I think we fixate so much on our own agendas and belief systems that we lose sight of God's will, and thus start to construct our own versions of what we think His will would be.

A centripetal force is a force that makes a body follow a curved path.  Essentially, a centripetal force is the relationship between a central object and the object orbiting around it.  The force keeps an object circling its center.  When I think about my relationship with God, this seems like a very appropriate analogy.  Despite my waywardness and doubts, God continues to keep me orbiting around a fixed center--the fixed center that is Him.

Sometimes it feels like my life is one ongoing emotional upheaval.  It's emotion after emotion after emotion.  I feel as though I'm constantly checking in with myself about how I'm feeling and why I'm feeling that way, and at times the endless consideration becomes exhausting.  Sometimes it feels as though happiness eludes me.  No matter what or who I fill my life with or surround myself by, I seem to live with the subtle sense of emptiness or discontent.   I never feel fully satisfied.

And perhaps that is because I was not made for this world.  The centripetal force keeps me in orbit as I navigate a world of brokenness and pain, of beauty and joy.  Life sometimes feels so complicated; people are so complex.  Yet, I rest in a certain comfort, knowing that no matter where I am or what I'm doing, I am still in orbit as the hand of the Great Centripetal Force keeps me ever in His presence.  Despite my ever changing feelings and circumstances, I know that I can rely on His love, goodness, and faithfulness.

I pray He would help my eyes to be fixed on that central point around which I orbit, and not so much on ruminations about the path on which He has me.  I want to rest in the peace of knowing that He still guides me.

Bypassing the Process

As a goal-oriented, closure-seeking INFJ, the growth process can be challenging.  I want to have arrived now.  To know the lesson now.  To be aware of the ending now.  Submitting to a process is often a struggle for me.  I want to rush through all the steps to achieve a final product.  I forget that a solid building requires a sturdy foundation, solid wood, accurately-placed nails, and a host of projects that necessitate keen attention to detail.  You wouldn't want to buy a house that was built in a day (unless, perhaps, it was a tiny house).

I like when my life feels settled.  Loose ends make me anxious.  Ambiguity causes minor panic.  When circumstances are out of my control, I can get a little crazy--overanalyzing, ruminating, contemplating, plotting.  My mind goes into overdrive as I consider all the various ways a scenario could turn out.  And by worrying, somehow I think that I am taking control of the situation.  Too bad my worrying seems to muddle a situation more than remedy it.

I see a flaw in myself, one that alarms me and embarrasses me.  I care more about the end result than I do the steps taken to get there.  While I am a fan of self-discovery and the process of getting to know oneself, everything that happens outside of my own consciousness feels scary and uncertain, and that is when I stop being interested in processes.  I would rather immediately know outcomes than gradually progress through stages that I cannot control.

I know that not all growth can come from within.  We go through periods of growth as a result of circumstances, people, the environment, etc.  We are not immune to the effects and influence of the external world.  But so often I wish I could manage and dictate those effects and that influence.  I suppose what I'm really saying is that I'm afraid, and that I'd rather shield myself and avoid dangers than face a life of vulnerability.

Today, my friend told me that it seems as though I purposefully place myself in situations where I am shielded from the get-go, so that there is never the risk or option of being vulnerable.  I avoid opportunities to drop my shield, and instead cling to two types of existence: the internal world of my own consciousness, and the part of the external world where it would be unsafe for me to let my guard down.  I altogether avoid a third type of existence: the external world where it is safe for me to venture unguarded.  I'm not even sure I know how to be in the external world without a shield.

Admitting my reluctance to be vulnerable makes me feel vulnerable.  Or, perhaps I feel vulnerable admitting to the external world that I live a shielded life.  I say I want to change, but do I?  Dropping the shield means being exposed, and that is the thing I am most terrified of.  But what about being exposed is so terrifying?  The potential to be hurt, rejected, or abandoned?  Do I cling to familiar complacency because I'd rather know no change than risk being wounded?  Am I not harming myself anyway by avoiding growth?

And that is what it all comes down to--if I avoid the process, I avoid change.  I either want to see immediate results that demand no pathway of vulnerability, or I want to maintain the status quo.  Despite the fact that I claim I want my life to change, in reality I live in a way that reflects a desire to keep everything the same.  Don't rock the boat.  Don't stir the waters.  Just leave everything be.  Don't seek change--you'll just be wounded.  Stay in your comfortable little shell forever.

They say that with great risk comes great reward.  I am trying to think back on the greatest risks I've taken.  Has great reward followed?  Often, pain has followed.  And maybe that is why I am now scared to risk, because historically my risks have not always turned out as hoped.  But would I not take the risks if given second chances?  I think that I would, because despite the pain that has often followed each risk, growth has followed too.  And without those risks I would not be who I am today, and I am quite proud of where I've come from and who I've become.

I also must acknowledge that there will be times I take risks and embrace vulnerability, and it won't be pain that follows, but joy.  So while I certainly avoid getting hurt by shielding myself from risk, I also avoid potentially the deepest joy I could ever know.  And I am tired of living my life on the sidelines, longing for the kind of existence that embraces risk and all the joys and sorrows that come with it.  I want to dive into the process, and leave the safety of this shell I have so carefully constructed for myself.  I want change.

Isaiah 55:22 (NIV)

You will go out in joy and be led forth in peace; the mountains and hills will burst into song before you, and all the trees of the field will clap their hands.

Change That Harms and Change That Helps

My emotions and thoughts are like race car tracks right now.  My INFJ dominant introverted intuition is in high gear; I'm ruminating about future possibilities.

I was recently contacted by my alma mater regarding a position that I had applied to weeks ago.  I never expected to be invited to do a phone interview.  I never expected them to actually like me during the phone interview and then invite me to an in-person interview.  I never expected to be contemplating moving away from my family right now, taking Tobin away from the only home he's known, and adding some unwanted chaos to a graduate student's already hectic life.

I've been thinking about fear, and how fear can sometimes keep us from doing what's best for us.  Fear can cause us to self-sabotage; it can make us doubt ourselves.  We second-guess our decisions.  We come up with mental justifications for why not upsetting the status quo is better for us--why change is overrated and unnecessary.

I am not fond of change.  In my life, change has always brought on an immense amount of stress, and has propelled me into some of my darkest days and worst autoimmune flare-ups.  Moving always makes me feel like I'm having a breakdown--mostly because I'm away from my family, my support system.  New jobs can provoke a lot of anxiety.  Navigating life with a full-time job, full-time graduate program, and full-time fur-child is something I'm terrified to do, terrified to even imagine.

Is fear ever healthy?  I think that sometimes our gut-level feelings can direct us quite appropriately.  Fear keeps us from danger and makes us think more carefully about decisions.  But fear can also be crippling, because we can imagine so many dangerous scenarios that they prevent us from acting indefinitely--from ever making any movement with our lives.

I don't know if I'll be offered the job at my former university.  But I do know that for the longest time I said that my dream job would be to work in this department at my alma mater.  And it seems as though this dream may come true much earlier than I anticipated.  But then I begin to wonder, is it really my dream?  Does my INFJ idealism build up these imagined scenarios to be better than they would actually be in real life?  Can my autoimmune-diseased body realistically handle this dream I've conjured up for myself?

I keep asking that God would only have them offer me the job if it's His will that I accept the offer.  But then I am reminded that God often doesn't work that way, and He may leave deciding up to me without giving me a clear sense of His will.  Perhaps either decision would be His will.  This is one time when I would need to make a decision that I can't simply back out of--I would be committing to a move and an apartment and a career and a new life.  And I worry that I'm not ready yet.

I keep repeating the lyrics of "He Leadeth Me" in my head.  It reminds me that God's hand is upon me and guides me.  I want to make a decision that's best for me and best for Tobin.  I don't want to do anything that will exacerbate my illnesses or make Tobin depressed or that I'll regret a few days or weeks in.  Change is scary.  I pray for myself the serenity prayer, that I would accept the things that cannot be changed, that I would have the courage to change in the ways God wants me to, and that I would know the difference between change that will harm me and change that will help me.

He leadeth me, O blessed thought!

O words with heav’nly comfort fraught!

Whate’er I do, where’er I be

Still ’tis God’s hand that leadeth me.

Accepting Your Whole-Self

I found myself coming home in a bad mood for most of the week.  My supervisor tells me it's due to some unusual planetary alignment that's going on right now.  I blame my ongoing self-esteem issues.  And perhaps the fact that my job keeps me so distracted and so busy and from living out my innate MBTI preferences that I come home from work feeling like I've been living as a false self.  I have also been thinking more and more about relationships lately, and the fact that I would really like to get married--or at least have a romantic partner to share my heart and life with.

Getting older sometimes feels uncomfortable and sad and unsatisfying.  So many of my friends are starting families, advanced on their career paths, making their marks on the world.  Social media can be so dangerous because I find myself stalking contacts near and far, comparing my circumstances to theirs.  It's easy for me to momentarily forget my chronic illnesses and struggles and cancer in those few seconds of comparison that lead to a snowballing of self-doubt and self-deprecation.  I read somewhere this week that we should get off of social media because it's unfair for us to compare our own behind-the-scenes to a highlight reel of the people around us.

I've been feeling better the past few months.  Meaning, I've been taking better care of myself.  Meaning, I've had more energy to do my hair and make an effort with my outfits.  I've been trying to treat myself with much grace, not pushing myself too hard or expecting too much of myself.  I am just grateful to be alive and cancer-free and feeling mostly happy, and I don't want to upset what has become a semblance of balance.

At the same time, I realize that the person I present to the world is the person I present to the world.  Not a deep statement, I know, but what I mean is that people don't know about my inward struggles at first meeting.  All they see is my shell, a shell that often reflects the half-person that I often feel that I am.  A half-person because of fatigue, exhaustion, pain, depression, and insecurity.  A half-person because my energy is expended trying to support myself financially while dealing with constant emotional upheavals and health issues.  A half-person because I often have to put hopes and dreams on hold as I attempt to make it in there here-and-now.  A half-person because I spend the workweek functioning out of my inferior MBTI function.

As I often do, last night I turned to Google for advice.  It's become a sort of Magic 8 Ball for me as I navigate a life of ill-health.  When I did a search for "come home feeling bad about myself," the first search result was for an article from Tiny Buddha called "5 Tips to Stop Making Comparisons and Feeling Bad About Yourself."  Sara Davies' 5 tips are:

1. Appreciate what you do have.
2. It's not a fair game.
3. Things aren't always what they seem.
4. If you must compare, compare to you.
5. Accept what you can't change and change what you can't accept.

The third hit from my Google search was for an article on Psychology Today entitled "Social Media Makes Me Feel Bad About Myself."  I do largely blame social networking for providing the ability to compare and assess ourselves in a matter of only a few seconds.  If we slowed down to thoughtfully consider our self-talk in those few seconds, I think we would be both ashamed and surprised.  I'm guessing that for most of us, the self-talk involves a lot of negativity, either because we envy the people around us, or because we make ourselves feel better at what others lack or where others are at in life.

Aside from social networking, I also find that having young co-workers has unearthed some personal feelings of self-doubt and comparison.  Mostly because being around them immediately propels me back a decade, to a time before diagnoses and cancer and living a strict life.  I am reminded of the freedom I had back then, the sense of choice and opportunity.  It really felt like the world was my oyster, and I looked forward to travel and relationships and adventures.  I was naturally self-confident, and I enjoyed being involved in social groups, discovering new cultures around the world, and meeting potential romantic partners.

As I've gotten older, my social groups have mostly disappeared, I haven't been able to travel, and romance has not been a top priority.  Now that I'm finally feeling interested in having a boyfriend and possibly getting married at some point, I realize that I feel as though I lost an entire decade.  Illness was my boyfriend.  Medical treatments were my adventures.  So, not only do my young co-workers remind me of what felt like a simpler time, but they also provide me with the opportunity to live the years that I feel like I lost.  And, of course this is somewhat problematic, because I really can never get those years back.  And based on brain development and life experience, I am further along than them in almost every way.  But it seems as though my circumstances are more akin to theirs than to the circumstances of people my own age.  I am mentally and emotionally more developed, yet the external reality of my life is almost exactly the same as theirs.

And this is what frightens me about the possibility of ever meeting a partner.  How will he perceive me when he meets me?  Will he judge me as the half-self I present to the world?  How will he know what I've been through and why I am the way I am?  Will he understand my circumstances?  Am I in a place to meet someone?  Can I be emotionally available to someone?  Do I need to lose weight to meet someone?  Do I need to be financially self-sufficient to be with someone?  Am I pretty?  Am I thin?

I know that I have a lot to offer someone on emotional and intellectual levels, but I fear that my circumstances and present-day realities will prevent me from finding love.  But, is that a legitimate concern or just my own insecurity?  I realize that opportunities to meet people my age in this area are few, but even if I did go somewhere else, how and where would I meet someone?  The older I get, the less and less likely it seems that those questions can be answered.  I know that God can work beyond my comprehension or planning, but I also realize the danger of expecting Him to do work while I choose not to be proactive.

I think for me the biggest hurdle is my own self-esteem battle, and for that I know I probably need to return to counseling.  Chronic illness seems to infiltrate every component of life, and perhaps most strongly affects a person's self-perception.  It's hard not to see myself as damaged goods or high maintenance or too much for someone to want to deal with.  I keep thinking, "I'll wait until I'm thinner.  I'll wait until my cute clothes fit.  I'll wait until my upset stomach issues are resolved.  I'll wait until I'm on my own.  I'll wait until I have a real job.  I'll wait until..."

But if I keep waiting, I fear I'll look back on most of my life as years lost.  I don't want to perpetually feel ostracized from my own age group.  I don't want to have to revert back to a time of lesser maturity in order to feel comfortable with my own life.  I want to learn to move forward in my life at my age in a way that accepts my experiences and circumstances.  I want to have confidence in what I have to offer the world and a potential partner.  I don't want to feel like I have to fix myself, but I want to learn to accept myself as I am in the here-and-now.  I want to extend grace and love to myself always.  I want to trust God, and also see myself as He sees me.  I don't want to look at my life as a mistake or disappointment, but I want to dwell on the ways in which my struggles have shaped the person I am.  I want to be un-apologetically me.  And I don't want to rate myself according to the Joneses.

I'm going to try to be more conscious of my self-talk.  I'm going to try to stay away from social media stalking.  I'm going to try to focus on a more meaningful relationship with God.  I'm going to try to live as a whole-self, the self that He created me to be.  May He give me self-compassion in the process.

Self-Acceptance and Authentic Relational Connection

I have low self-esteem.  I feel both burdened and annoyed by this.  And, somehow, acknowledging that I don't feel very good about myself actually makes me feel worse about myself.  I peruse Google for tips on how to create healthy self-esteem, and for information on the emotional causes of self-sabotage.  I know there's no quick-fix when it comes to loving yourself; it's a slow and steady process that comes with time, healing, and probably help.  Sometimes I wonder how much of our sense of self-worth is affected by our language; because I have diseases, do I then see myself as inherently diseased?  I understand the disease label as an indicator of functioning that differs from "normal," but what is normal anyway?  And if the word disease didn't hold so many connotations of abnormality and brokenness, would the various days of my diagnoses have brought such sadness and disappointment?

Last night, I found an article that discusses our use of addictive behaviors to deal with loneliness and low self-esteem.  The author focuses in particular on eating, but the ideas extend to any practices that distract us from our own emotional turmoil, namely loneliness.

When you’re chronically lonely, just being around other people doesn’t fix it.  You can be married and lonely; you can be lonely in a crowd.  If you’re chronically lonely, what you lack is authentic connections with other human beings, and generally that’s because you block these connections by not sharing your authentic self.  Why?

People who are chronically lonely almost always have as a core problem that they don’t like themselves very much. The give-away is that they generally find it almost unbearable to be alone--especially at night when the distractions of the day are over and it’s quiet.  They may even dread turning off the light to go to sleep at night, and procrastinate on that.

Chronically lonely people often have an almost phobic reaction to being by themselves.  It feels like falling down a black hole--an awful "dust in the wind" feeling of utter emptiness and alienation from everything and everyone, as though you’re the only person on the planet.  If you live alone, you probably avoid going home at night because you can’t bear to be home alone with that feeling.  You call it loneliness, but it’s really something else.  It’s the horrors; it’s existential alienation.  The Big Empty.

Quiet evenings alone are often when emotional eaters binge, perhaps numbing out in front of the TV.  They may stay awake until so late that they practically drop from exhaustion, or they may use alcohol to go to sleep so they don’t have to experience their own thoughts lying in bed in the dark.

What is this about?  If you can’t bear to be by yourself, it essentially means you can’t bear yourself--you can’t bear your own company, you can’t bear the experience of being "you".  That is a huge problem, and it’s also a big block to developing healthy relationships.  That’s why it goes along with loneliness and people call it loneliness, but it’s not exactly the same as loneliness.

You can’t stand your own company without distractions because you don’t like yourself.  And because you don’t like yourself, you assume no one else will like you either, causing you to shun social contact, making you lonely.

Sheryl Canter argues that the only solution to chronic loneliness is authentic human connection, or finding people who accept and love you in your entirety--which I don't think can be done until we accept and love ourselves and truly believe we deserve acceptance and love.

The only thing that cures loneliness is authentic human connection.  That means allowing another to see you for who you really are and experiencing their acceptance, and seeing another for who they really are and accepting them.

If you don’t like yourself much, it can be scary to let others see the real you.  Your impulse will be to hide your real thoughts and feelings under the mistaken notion that the real you is unacceptable and will be rejected.  But you’ve got to get past this and take the risk because if you never let anyone see you, you will stay lonely.

My lack of self-love is not a new realization, and I have discussed it openly in the past.  However, this week was the first time that I allowed my low self-esteem to affect my relationships with other people--and drawing people into my inner-turmoil is not something I want or hope to do.  Primarily, I don't want to hurt the people I care about.  And, equally important, I don't want my sense of self-worth to hinge on a relationship with anyone, because: 1.) humans are imperfect, and eventually I will be disappointed; 2.) that is an unfair amount of pressure and an unrealistic expectation to place on an individual.

Several years ago, I had a vision of myself carrying around my heart in my hand, trying to pass it along to anyone who would take it.  In many ways, I think I still do that, desperately seeking a person who will see me holistically and love every part of me.  I know that approval, affirmation, and acceptance need to come from my relationship with God first and foremost.  Sometimes I am so overwhelmed by my own neediness and sense of waywardness.  He promises to draw near to me as I attempt to draw near Him, and that truth is my only comfort.

Psalm 139: 1-5, 16 (CEB)
"Lord, you have examined me.

You know me.

You know when I sit down and when I stand up.

Even from far away, you comprehend my plans.
You study my traveling and resting.
You are thoroughly familiar with all my ways.
There isn’t a word on my tongue, Lord,
that you don’t already know completely.
You surround me--front and back.
You put your hand on me.
Your eyes saw my embryo,

and on your scroll every day was written that was being formed for me,

before any one of them had yet happened."

The Imagined Life vs. Real Life

I've struggled to live in the present for probably half my life.  Sometime during high school, as childhood came to an end and I propelled towards adulthood, all that demanded my attention seemed to exist in the future: test scores, grades, college applications, a bachelor's degree, a first job.  We were trained to do everything for the sake of what would eventually come, and so I think in some ways we were conditioned not to live in the moment, but instead to always be moving forward and looking to the next thing, the bigger thing, the better thing.

This week I've experienced a tumult of emotions, which I blame in large part on a mix-up at my local pharmacy.  I was unknowingly given the wrong thyroid medication last Monday, and for most of the week I experienced severe mood swings; they caused such a marked change in my disposition that I eventually had the intuitive sense to check the imprint on my hormone tablets, and thus uncovered the error.  It was emotionally exhausting, to say the least, but in combination with beginning to read Steven Pressfield's The War of Art last weekend, I've had some time to thoughtfully consider where I am in life and the direction in which I am and/or hope to be moving.

For the past several years, living an imagined life has been my default.  I think I've encountered so much pain during this second half of my life that I cope by dwelling in the land of imagination.  INFJs are naturally future-focused as it is, so I'm likely hard-wired to use daydreams as a sort of coping mechanism.  I've constructed fantasies about where I'll live, what I'll do, what I'll have, who I'll be with.  I've created imaginary depth in relationships with people I actually know, and dreamed of pretend scenarios that some part of me hoped would come true, if only to take me away from the life that I actually know.

Clearly, using imagination as a means of escape just signals a larger issue of not wanting to deal with my reality, the here-and-now.  Perhaps my imagination has bred a sort of hope that has made the pain of disease and illness bearable.  If that's the case, I can't be too hard on myself for finding a way of moving forward in what have been the most difficult years of my life.  At the same time, living so much in fantasy not only keeps us from progressing, but prevents us from appreciating the people and circumstances that exist in a given moment in time and space.  Incidentally, focusing on an imagined future has actually prevented me from advancing in life.  Now that I think about it, I suppose that I haven't wanted to move forward, as I'm sure that in many ways I maintain a fear about what is to come.  Will there be more pain?  Disappointment?  Suffering?  Disease?  Hopes squashed?  Imagining a future has given me a sense of control over the terrifying unknown.

What is to be done about chronic disappointment?  Normally I would say that a person has too many expectations.  I thought it was fair for a person to assume s/he would experience good health, true love, and vocational fulfillment, but now I realize that any expectation is already too many.  We can't know what life will bring us, what will be our assigned portion and cup.  I have handed my security over to dreams and fantasies, when I should have been entrusting my security to God.  Isn't it like us to trust our own imaginations over the sovereignty and loving-kindness of a divine and all-good Creator?  I find myself proving over and over that I lack trust and faith in God.  Fortunately, He continues to be good and loving and all-knowing whether or not I believe Him to be so.

I often say that I wish I trusted Him more.  And I do.  But more than that, I think I wish I knew Him more.  Because if I truly knew Him, I don't think I'd be afraid of Him.  Because I don't think I'm as afraid of entrusting my future to someone else as much as I am entrusting it to God.  Because when I entrust my future to God, it feels like I am inviting more pain and disappointment and suffering and disease and squashed hopes.  I know I'm partly jaded because of misfortune, but hasn't it been the very hand of God that has allowed my life to go on like this up until now?  And isn't it up to His sovereign hand what the outcome of my life will be in the future?  I wish I could say that I honestly believe that He uses all of our life experiences for our own benefit.  But it's difficult to truly trust that the enormity of my pain and disappointment has been a blessing rather than a curse.

It would be selfish and ungrateful for me to ignore the great amount of blessings in my life, from living in a beautiful location in a beautiful home, to having a loving and supportive family; from being the dog-mom to a most handsome miniature schnauzer, to having a secure job that I enjoy enough on most days to keep me going back; from having a master's-level education, to having access to healthy food and a healthy lifestyle.  When I consider the struggles of people around the world, mine seem so small.  But, my emotions are as they are, and because so much of my pain has been internal, sometimes the evidence of external blessings is clouded.

And I've arrived at this point in my writing without any conclusions.  Except that I know I want to be more present in my life, in the here-and-now.  And I do still have hopes for the future.  And if I am going to make an effort to stop living an imagined life, that means all I can do is entrust the outcome of my life to God.  And my one true future hope is this: that He will fulfill His promise to do more in my life than I am capable of hoping for or imagining.  My hope is to truly internalize, despite whatever circumstances I encounter, His divine goodness and love for me.

Upon further contemplation, I realize that my greatest gift as of late is vision for the future.  Not that God has imparted me with specifics on where or what or who, but I feel deeply drawn (perhaps called) in a direction.  And I don't think I would be moving in this direction had it not been for the very experiences I've endured.  I have always said that my one desire in life is to help people.  Now it is my desire to see my experiences, particularly the painful ones, act as the platform for my destiny and purpose.  If I am a lump of clay in the process of being made into some useful piece of pottery, then my trials are the tools that are shaping the form I am to become.  I believe that my pain is deeply tied to God's designation for my life, and so I can see now how my disappointments will actually lead me to be a truer, more authentic version of myself--the divinely-ordained version.  Ultimately, I cling to the belief that my pain will be the most profound source of my abiding joy.

Disheveled: Becoming “Post-Evangelical”

The main title for this post came to me as I sat in my bedroom in momentary silence, reflecting on the current state of my life. It was the one word that popped into my head as I stared at my messy closet and the shelved books I had just sorted through. My collection of books has always acted as a sort of barometer for where I’m at and what I’m interested in. In the past, the shelves were brimming with titles related to theology, Ethnic Studies, Christian romance, nutrition, classics. Over the years, I whittled down my number of books in hopes of abating a semi-addiction to buying reading material from Amazon. The books I knew I wouldn’t read, I parted with, and I refused to allow myself to purchase anything new until after the books on my shelves were read.

Since that first weeding through the books, my collection has seemed to shrink rather than grow. Or, perhaps the contents--the themes and topics--have merely changed so vastly that it seems shrunken, when in fact it’s not the number of books that’s been depleted but my sense of faith.

As I was examining the spines of books still in my possession, I came upon my university yearbook. The summer before I left for college, freshmen had the opportunity to send in copies of their senior photos along with a selection of two interests from a form that listed pre-determined activities and fields. I still remember when I received this notice and decided to participate. There was no option for Jesus or faith, and so I chose the write-in option at the bottom and inscribed “Christianity” on the blank line. At that time, it was very important to me that people knew what I was about. In my mind, knowing that I was a Christian was more important for people than knowing my name, or major, or how I spent my weekends (although, I could have come up with a way to link all of those things back to the fact that I’m a Christian). Even during my first phone call with the dorm roommate I was paired with, I openly talked about my faith and the depth of its importance to me.

Along with the yearbook, I found some old books on practical spirituality that I no longer want to keep. They seem to be the last bit of proof that I was once evangelical. Now, I make that claim with some hesitation, as I don’t know that I will ever be entirely “post-evangelical.” My upbringing in the church and experiences doing ministry around the world have created deep roots that I don’t know will ever really die off or be able to be pulled out. But I know that my faith is not the same as it once was; it seems to have become disheveled.

I was contemplating my feelings towards the church, and the only thoughts I can ever really come up with are that I have been deeply wounded. But as I sat and considered those words, it occurred to me that God and the church are not one in the same. God has not wounded me, but the church, and more specifically Christians in the church, have wounded me. And it’s not even necessarily specific people or churches or occurrences, but it is in large part the ideas and ideals I was imparted with so that I feel that I was in some ways recklessly (though the intention was not reckless) led to believe things that actually did more harm than good. Rachel Held Evans articulated my own sentiments beautifully:

“When you grow up believing that your religious worldview contains the key to absolute truth and provides an answer to every question, you never really get over the disappointment of learning that it doesn't...Like it or not, our religious traditions help forge our identities. The great challenge...is to hold every piece of my faith experience in love, even the broken bits, even the parts that still cut my hands and make them bleed. We are all post-something. We are all caught between who we once were and who we will be, the ghosts of past certainties gripping at our ankles. There’s no just getting over it. There’s no easy moving on.”

I haven’t regularly attended church in over two years, mostly because I don’t really know where I belong, but also because I needed space. My life was so hyper-focused for so many years on my participation in church and evangelical activities that I lost my sense of self. I would use the justification that we are to sacrifice ourselves for the cause of the cross and a crucified Savior. However, I think that my lifestyle was more representative of a codependent relationship and sense of fear than anything else. I was terrified of somehow losing my faith that my entire life became based on being engaged and a leader in as many Christian organizations and opportunities as I could possibly be involved with. In some ways, I admire that kind of dedication and commitment. At the same time, I had no idea who I was.

As my 20s quickly come to a close, I’ve been reflecting a lot lately on the amount of growth and change I’ve experienced during the past decade. I feel that every year since I first left for college has been one of pivotal self-discovery, particularly my year in China and those following. I can thank my time in college for providing me with the tools to think critically. It all started with ideas related to social justice. The frameworks for thinking that I learned in my Ethnic Studies classes began to shape how I viewed other fields, including Christianity. As justice for the oppressed grew in importance to me, I began to see my political ideals aligning with Liberalism. And because I had grown up believing that Christians were automatically Republicans, I had to begin to reconsider my faith and how I could possibly reconcile belief in Jesus and His message with Democratic ideologies.

I don’t consider myself to be a Democrat, but I merely point out this example to mark the first moment of the dishevelment of my faith. It was that one small reconsideration that has led me to become more critical in my thinking about Christianity, in relation to people groups, sexuality, church attendance, relationships, purpose, and beyond. I know that there are many circles and branches of Christianity throughout the world, but it’s difficult not to feel like you’re amidst a divorce from evangelicalism and looking to remarry a new Christianity. And perhaps that’s why I’ve taken a break from church for so long; I’ve been mourning the loss of a Christianity that was as formative as it was painful for me.

As I lay the on carpet in my bedroom and stared at my ceiling, all I could think about was the fact that God is with me and will continue to go with me--no matter the state of my heart or circumstances. And I know I will never fully understand Him in this life, and I know that I will often feel disappointed by the church and by Christians; but I also know that He is not done with me yet. He has appointed me my portion and my cup, and as much as I’ve faced disappointments and trials and pain, I truly believe that I am part of a much larger purpose and story. I just hope that those disappointments and those trials and that pain shape me to be more compassionate and Christ-like in my life. And even when I don’t know what label to use when it comes to talking about my faith, I pray my eyes will ever be fixed on Jesus and all that He was and all that He stands for and spoke about. God is bigger than our interpretations and ideas and labels and debates and churches.

Life is Passing Me By

I woke up last night to a vomiting dog, and then found myself unable to fall back asleep.  I was awake in the first hours of the day, Googling things like "life is passing me by."  I almost laughed aloud when the first hit that popped up said, "When you're unhappy, you tend to be thinking a lot about life. When your job sucks, you're not engaged. You're listless and googling sh*t, and in general not enjoying what's going on."  Nailed it.

After reading some articles on Milk the Pigeon, I tossed around my bed in the dark, attempting to sleep, but distracted by the realization of how scared I am.  I am scared by how uninterested I am in my own life.  Aside from loving my dog, I am not doing anything I enjoy or am excited about or that gives me a sense of purpose.  I'm unfulfilled by my job, but I need it to pay the bills.  It consumes most of my time, and I have nothing to show for it.  I have no time to devote to creativity or outside interests because I am so exhausted on my days off that I end up sleeping through them.

It's terrifying to realize that you really, truly hate everything about your life, and that you feel powerless to change anything.  I feel limited by my own health problems and medical conditions, and so I don't allow myself to dream too big because I don't know how far I can realistically go.  I do job searches, but they generally feel futile or meaningless; I am picking a job to have a job, and none of them get me excited or arouse my interests or passions.  I would love to work for myself (maybe; I say this, but I'm not sure how I would feel if I was actually doing it), but I don't know where or how to start.  I need money for my monthly expenses--dog, supplements, visits to doctors, insurance, student loans, food, car, prescriptions, life--and it seems impossible to be able to start anything entrepreneurial before stopping my current job.

But, even more scary than realizing how uninterested I am in my life is realizing how long it's been since I've been excited about anything.  I really think the last time I felt content in my circumstances was about six years ago, when I was still in college.  I would literally have moments when I thought to myself how perfect my life was at the time.  I was studying a field I was in love with, which fed into my Clifton strength of intellection.  I was working for my department which gave me a sense of deeper involvement in our progressive major and closeness to my professors.  I was exercising daily and eating well, and I was keeping off the weight that I had lost a few years before then.  I was discipling a younger student through weekly Bible studies and mentoring.  I was working on an oral history project with the local historical society.  My life was full, but everything I was doing felt meaningful and I had a lot of freedom and time to myself.  I was so happy with my life back then that it drove me to apply to Ph.D. programs, just so I could maintain that same life forever.  But, when the reality hit that I would be moving cross-country to immerse myself in academia, my heart seemed to shrink and I didn't want that life.  I basically never wanted to leave the life I was living at my university, and I eventually realized that getting a doctorate at an East Coast school would not simply be a continuation of my college experience.  It wasn't so much the academia I was interested in as it was the academic lifestyle.

I wasn't terribly unhappy during the few years following graduation.  I worked in a gluten-free market, where I got to talk to people about healthy eating and organize things all day.  I experienced a lot of autonomy and time to contemplate, and so I was content.  I continued to maintain an active lifestyle and was involved in a local church.  I even had a few friends that were still in town and who I saw with regularity.  However, life began to shift in 2011.  It started with debilitating joint pain that sent me to physical therapy.  A rheumatologist couldn't figure it out.  Physical therapists couldn't figure it out.  My endocrinologist eventually figured out that it was a sensitivity to almonds, which I ate constantly throughout the day in every form you can imagine.  I was taking two art classes at the local community college, but outside of that I was mostly watching a lot of T.V.  I did start interning that summer as a photojournalist for three local papers, but at the end of summer I broke my leg, and so once again my life became all about physical therapy.

In January of the following year, I began working for the local school district and awaited grad school acceptances.  Once I decided to pursue a master's in Women's Studies, I immediately began to have misgivings about the program and whether I really wanted to study that field.  I knew I wouldn't be able to recreate college, and I think that's what I was after.  Additionally, I didn't feel like I fit in with the program or its students, and so I began to move in the direction of special education.  I wasn't necessarily something I felt passionate about, but it gave me a sense of purpose.

I numbly floated through my interdisciplinary graduate program, eventually realizing that I didn't really want to teach special ed.  I began to pursue school counseling, until I realized that I didn't want to do that either.  I desperately grasped for a sense of purpose, having somewhere lost my sense of passion or even any sense of what my passions might be.  I finished graduate school, and was essentially forced into the only job that wanted me, and shortly after that into the only other job that wanted me.  And then I eventually found myself in survival mode, no longer even thinking about purpose or passion or my idyllic time in college.  I had to turn off any sense of wants or dreams so that I could cope with the reality and limitations of illness, and get through the day-to-day grind of a meaningless job without becoming suicidal.

I try to get through five days of work so I can get to my two days of sleep.  I think more about paying my bills than finding purpose.  I think about my limitations more than I do my potential.  I don't really know what I want anymore, except I know I don't want this.  And the things I know that I do want--a cottage by the sea and a vegetable garden and a flock of schnauzers--are unrealistic without a job to finance them.  And so I dream of this vague life I want, but don't know how to get there.  And even though I feel stuck, I am terrified of getting unstuck because I don't want to get sick.  And illness seems to follow me wherever I go.

It seems silly for a person to feel trapped in his or her own life.  We think, "Go do something about it!"  But the logistics of actually doing something about it are profoundly more complex, generally because they involve money.  Do people with a lot of money ever feel stuck?  Maybe on an emotional level, but at least they have the means to physically remove themselves from lives they hate.  Or, perhaps I'm wrong.  I know money doesn't solve problems, but sometimes I think it might in some small way solve some of mine.

The article I read last night told me that I should stop thinking so much and just start doing things.  Anything.  Create things.  Learn things.  Keep myself busy.  And I think back to my time in college and how busy I was, and perhaps the key to my happiness was that I had so much going on and I was contributing to the world in a way that lined up with my values.  And perhaps the longer I've been out of college and the more sick I've become, the less I've been able to do.  And as I did less, I began to think more.  Exercise and church and seeing other people were no longer important factors in my life.  I blame my lack of involvement in anything on fatigue.  But is it that?  I don't even know anymore.

It seems there are many things I no longer know.  I have accepted this as my reality, but I don't want to settle for this.  This can't be it.  I won't let this be it.

"For most of us, we hit that 'stuck/fu**ed' spot right when we get the first secure job. It pays us good enough so that we don’t worry, we get a good enough apartment, then a good enough spouse, then a good enough marriage. And then life is 'Eh, good enough' for the rest of our lives. F**k good enough."

-Alexander Heyne

I know that my circumstances need to change.  I just need to figure out what I can realistically do to change them.  Please help me, God.

I am a survivor.

That moment when you remember how your professors radically changed your life...

That moment when you're reminded of the vision you held for your future...

That moment when you realize you're a survivor.

Today is the 16-week anniversary of my total thyroidectomy, and thus my 112th day of being cancer-free.  These anniversaries are largely non-monumentous.  Every few weeks, I take a photo of my scar and post it on Facebook with a caption about which anniversary I've reached.  The photos always garner "likes" and comments, and they're a small and simple way for me to celebrate.  I have also been turning these photos into "covers" for my Facebook profile, after I add to them the statement "I am a survivor."

The fact that I'm a survivor has been a conscious reality since the day I was diagnosed with cancer.  But I have given the title (survivor) little meaningful thought in the past few weeks.  I don't know that I really considered what the word meant beyond the fact that it made a statement about my having battled cancer.  However, something in me shifted tonight as I read those words.

I've been struggling a lot lately with trying to figure out the future.  I realize that working in retail is unsatisfying and impractical for the long-haul.  I want to contribute something to the greater good of mankind--research, teaching, love.  I want to make a difference in the world.  As an INFJ, my heartstrings are always pulled in so many directions.  I read an article recently that said that career options for INFJs are always simultaneously exciting and heartbreaking.  As idealists, the world of possibility is thrilling and produces in us all sorts of fantasies about the future.  However, all of those possibilities are also crippling, because we come to realize that to pursue one pathway is to sacrifice another.  We can't do everything.  And so at once none of the options are appealing any longer because we can't do all of them in one self-designed career (wouldn't that be nice?).  It's frustrating.

So, I've been dealing with all of that INFJ confusion--the appeal and drawbacks of every job out there.  Add on top of this the fact that INFJs often feel misunderstood (and often are misunderstood) when sharing their intuitive insights, so people write off this deep analysis of future options as crazed neuroticism.  The INFJ then packs up all this thought and places it back into the very personal introverted intuitive luggage, and once again starts mulling over the more "conventional" options, because those aren't considered "crazy."

And then I get to throw an autoimmune disease, endocrine disease, MTHFR gene mutation, and histamine intolerance into the mix of my endless thought processes, which does result in a certain amount of crazy as I try to create a game-plan for my future.

The past few weeks I've been revisiting the idea of pursuing a Ph.D., as I think it may be one of the only career paths that affords me the level of freedom and time for contemplation that I'm seeking.  The struggle I have been facing with this idea is what kind of research agenda I would propose in my personal statement.  I want to write something honest and compelling, but to be honest would be to say that I really don't know what I want to do doctoral level research on.  Earlier tonight I read through old personal statements and academic essays, and then found a letter I wrote to my professors when I graduated from Cal Poly.  The letter mostly talks about how their mentorship and guidance is what made me want to become a professor in the first place (over eight years ago), and how I wanted to inspire my future students in the same ways my teachers inspired me.

When I finished reading the letter and closed it on my desktop, the first thing I saw was the cover photo I had posted on my Facebook profile earlier today.  It felt like the "I am a survivor" statement was boring a hole into my heart.  For the first time, those words made me want to cry.  They no longer just meant that I battled cancer, but that who I am in my very essence is a culmination of every event that has ever happened to me, both in the past and moving into the future.  I could easily say "I have hope" or "I have a future," and they would mean the same thing as telling people that I'm a survivor.

Writing this now brings to mind the verse that was a favorite for years and years--the one that all my friends knew I loved, and that caused them to give me knowing glances whenever we read or heard it.  It was my signature verse, for reasons that I won't outline in this post.  But, suffice it to say, the words still hold profound meaning in my heart, and are something I think I need a reminder of today.

Jeremiah 29:11

"'For I know the plans I have for you,' declares the Lord, 'plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future'" (New International Version).

or

"I know the plans I have in mind for you, declares the Lord; they are plans for peace, not disaster, to give you a future filled with hope" (Common English Bible).

I take the GRE in one week.  My prayer is that during the test, these words will be my companion:

I am a survivor.

I have hope.

I have a future.

My Non-Linear Trajectory

Sometimes it's difficult for me to accept that my interests evolve.  In my mind, I would like my life to reflect some kind of linear trajectory--logical and focused.  I want the central unique purpose for which I was created to be obvious in all of my jobs and volunteer efforts, etc.

However, as I get older I realize that nothing in my life has ever (ever) gone according to plan.  I wanted to be a missionary.  That desire became more focused, and I decided that I wanted to work overseas with children.  I wanted to attend a Christian college, where I thought that I would receive the best training for my intended career.  I ended up at a (very good) state school.  I started out majoring in Liberal Studies, and within only a few weeks of my first quarter of college discovered the program was not a good fit.  I waffled in indecision over my major for nearly two years.  My university approved a new bachelor's degree in Comparative Ethnic Studies.  The program required two Ethnic Studies courses to switch majors.  I registered for the prerequisite courses and applied to switch majors, not really knowing what Ethnic Studies was, but certain it would better prepare me for work overseas.  I went overseas and worked as a missionary for a year.  I hated it.  I returned home to the U.S. and discovered that I actually really loved Ethnic Studies.  I wanted to get my Ph.D.  I was accepted into a doctoral program.  I went to visit the school where the program was and I freaked out.  Despite being offered a full fellowship, I decided not to go.  I considered divinity school.  I thought it would prepare me for religion-focused research in a doctoral program down the road.  I tried two different divinity programs.  I hated them both and dropped out of them both, one year after the other.  I ended up working in special education at the same time I made the decision to get a master's degree in Women's Studies.  I started the program, realized it wasn't a good fit, and then transferred into an interdisciplinary program that allowed me to take more education coursework.  I graduated and got a job in special education and hated it.  Now I'm in retail.

There has always been an innate drive to help people and make a difference in the world, but I don't know that I've ever pursued the best and most appropriate means of doing those things.  I've chosen very extroverted and emotionally-draining roles, and as an INFJ and Highly Sensitive Person, I burn out quickly.  I don't know that I've ever found a job that truly embraces all of my gifts without totally wiping me out on an emotional, spiritual, and sometimes physical level.

I loved the Comparative Ethnic Studies program at Cal Poly, not just because the subject matter fascinated me, but because during that time my lifestyle was perfectly suited for my personality type.  I spent countless hours pondering issues and ideas that were meaningful and aroused my passions for those treated unjustly.  I was in class during the mornings, but had most of the day to work on projects or papers and make decisions about how I would manage my time.  Focusing on the experiences of oppressed peoples made me feel like I was somehow making a difference in the world, if only because I was becoming a more aware world citizen--and thus could potentially educate others.  I wrote and read and had engaging intellectual discussions.  I worked for my professors doing editing and creating handouts and fliers, which tapped into my artistic sensibilities and need to organize and attend to details.  I conducted oral history interviews for a number of ongoing projects, which allowed me to connect with people in deep and productive ways that were based on pre-determined questions and thus didn't exhaust me.  In terms of my Clifton Strengths, Intellection, Responsibility, Relator, Input, Achiever, I was actively making use of all of my greatest assets.

The desire to go on for a Ph.D. was largely to mimic my undergraduate lifestyle, and not necessarily for the doctoral title or program itself.  With a high strength of intellection, I am drawn to any role in which I have a significant amount of time dedicated to critical thinking and making connections between ideas.  This is both a blessing and a curse.  I love to contemplate and learn and study and focus on big ideas, but my interests are at times so diverse and disparate that it would be seemingly impossible to focus them into one doctoral program.  Can't I just go to school forever?

The last few years have resulted in a significant amount of self-discovery and self-analysis.  After I lived in China and discovered that I am an INFJ, my entire self-perception and worldview shifted.  So much about myself finally made sense.  When I discovered last year that I am also a Highly Sensitive Person, it was like the final piece of the puzzle fell into place.  I'm not crazy.  I don't think I am unique as an HSP who struggles with deciding on a career path.  I wonder how many HSPs are also INFJs, and how many of them also have a strength of intellection?  How many of them struggle with autoimmune disease or other physical manifestations of living in an over-stimulating world?

I've been thinking a lot lately about continuing on in my education.  I really do love being in school.  However, I feel paralyzed when it comes to choosing a program.  There are so many programs, and it feels like choosing one would be at the expense of a whole realm of interests.  It's also hard for me to choose a program without some kind of practical application in my mind's eye, because I want a job to be at the end of it, but I don't really know what job I want to do.  Does the job I want even exist yet?  Do I have to create my own job?  I've been reading a lot of online articles lately that basically tell me that the best option for a Highly Sensitive Person is self-employment.  That seems easier said than done.  I'd love to work for myself, but what kind of business would I be creating in the first place?  Can I get paid to think and organize?  Wouldn't that be nice...?

I've thought about continuing my education in Disability Studies, pursuing psychology, becoming a naturopathic physician or nutritionist.  I've considered doctoral programs in traditional fields like Sociology or Education, or nontraditional fields like Sex and Gender Studies.  Unfortunately, Ph.D. programs require you to submit a focused research proposal with your application, and when it comes down to it, I don't really know what I want to study.  Do I really want to conduct a major research project?  Can't I just read and think without having to worry about a dissertation?  Can't I just skip over all the politics of academia?

I know there are other people out there in the world that think and feel like I do.  I wish I knew my tribe.  I wish we could all band together and brainstorm and discover what each of us is meant to do.  I don't always mind doing the work of self-discovery, but sometimes I feel stuck and want to move forward--but I just don't know how.  I see so many of my peers that are happy and progressing in the normal socially acceptable ways.  I don't necessarily compare myself to them, but it does leave me to wonder why I can't just make decisions and when I will actually take action steps to change my life.  Will I ever really know what trajectory I'm on?  If my past is indicative of the future, my path will never be linear.  I think I'm in denial about this.

What do I want to do?  What do I really want to do?  I know I want to work in a quiet, scenic environment and have lots of time for thinking and reflection.  I want to be able to do something creative.  I want to be able to use my hands to organize--to sort and categorize.  I don't want a boss hovering over me.  I want my work to contribute to the greater good of humankind.  My MAPP Career Test results list the following as my "top motivations":

• I have a strong preference to work under the supervision of someone who is knowledgeable. I seek clear direction. I like to "learn the ropes" and develop expertise.
• I am motivated to gather, record, departmentalize, store and retrieve information.
• I am talented at spatial measurement and arrangement, artistic ability for factual image reproduction, attention to detail, awareness of machines and their function, and tolerance of routine.
• I have the ability to remember exactly what was written or said.
• I perform well in roles where I feel I can share information that makes a positive difference to others.
• I am motivated to carry out instructions for routine tasks in a familiar environment.

I wish that someone could simply read that list and say, "Aha!  I know exactly what you should do."  Somehow, I think this journey of self-discovery is ongoing.  As much as it pains me, I think that I will probably continue to try things and hate them as I whittle my way down to my true purpose.  Or, perhaps my purpose is simply to be a sojourner trying all these things, never really knowing where I am headed, but trusting that God is in control nonetheless.  Perhaps I am meant to experience as much life as possible so that I can relate better to and serve all people, and the true linearity of my trajectory is actually found in its inconsistency.  If that's the case, Lord, give me a willing heart...

I Am Valuable, My Life is Worth Living

I don't love myself.

It's a realization I've made during the past weeks, or perhaps months or even years.  I don't love myself or find value in myself, and so I haven't been taking care of myself.

I'm not usually the biggest fan of Joyce Meyer, but over the weekend I came upon some words she wrote that spoke to my soul.  We can't love ourselves until we are healed emotionally, and we can't heal emotionally until we accept God's profound and unconditional love.

The depression demon usually visits me a handful of times throughout the month, generally in relation to a combination between where I am in my hormonal cycle and how I've been eating.  Tonight I was trying on some outfits, and all I could think about is how fat I am.  I looked in the mirror at how big (objectively speaking) I've gotten in so many places, and it made me feel totally unattractive and undesirable.  Coupled with those feelings is my already low self-esteem resulting from knowledge of my diseases, and the belief that I'm abnormal and tainted and not someone who anyone would want to marry; I cry in desperation, feeling like an alien creature stuck in a life she doesn't want, but incapable of having anything more or different.

In reality, I'm only 20 pounds heavier than my "normal," a result of hormone imbalances, cancer, and a puttered-out thyroid.  However, I think much of my self-worth hinged on my thinness, and now that it's gone (objectively speaking), I don't feel good about myself.  Before that, I found value in academic performance and achievement.  Before that, the perceived strength and quality of my faith in God.  I'm not in school and I've moved away from my legalistic Christianity and into something that feels less certain and secure (the loss of legalism is a good thing, the loss of security is not such a good thing).  Without my previous appearance, or academic accolades, or the recognition of a mature faith journey, I no longer have anywhere to find value.  Except the value that God has inherently created me with.

So much of my life has been about performing and doing and achieving that I missed out on many years of just be-ing.  When I was a missionary in China, for the first time in my life I was surrounded by a team of people who spent time doing things they enjoyed, simply for pleasure.  That concept was so foreign to me.  I didn't even know what I really liked doing.  I remember starting to spend afternoons outside with my camera, and then I bought some paint supplies at a bookstore and painted some pictures for the first time ever, just because I could.  I bought fiction books.  I downloaded music and learned about different singers and bands.  I began to exercise and cook healthy foods.  I became less focused on the appearance of my life to other people, and made choices that brought joy to my heart.

I'm not sure what's happened in the past four years, except I think that somehow with my medical diagnoses I began to give up on my life a little bit.  I remember when I was first told I had Hashimoto's Thyroiditis and probably PCOS, my immediate thought was, "Well, I guess I'm not getting married."  Somehow a disease made me abnormal, and that abnormality made me unlovable, and to be unlovable meant I had no value.  I think that I've been caught in the web of this pattern of thinking since that day in the beginning of 2010.  I am abnormal, so I have no value.

It's difficult to come to terms with the physical ailments you've been born with--to know that God created you with these proverbial thorns in your flesh.  I know that we all have our weaknesses and idiosyncrasies and problems, but somehow because I now see that I am not and can never be perfect, I have lost all sense of self-worth.  Perfectionism is such a painful and exhausting addiction.

But then I think about how much God has created me to be able to offer to the world.  My emotional and spiritual and physical struggles are but fodder for the possibility of ministering to others--of feeding God's sheep.  My suffering makes me more real and authentic and genuine (I hope), so that I can be a source of comfort and respite and truth to the people around me.  And He has given me gifts, as a human be-ing, that are unique only to me.  And not only gifts, but a calling to which no other person has been called.

I think about so many people He has placed in my life, people who love and value and appreciate me for who I am and nothing I've done.  People who have loved me through the ups and downs of my autoimmune disease, the good days when I've been kind and grateful and warm, and the bad days when I've been depressed and cranky and cold.  People who have loved me through my cancer, showering on me their support by way of an outpouring of financials gifts and notes of encouragement.  People who have continued to seek out relationships with me, even when that seeking out is very much one-sided.  All of that love and support and seeking speaks volumes about the love of God, and if the people in my life have valued me in this way, how much more does my Abba Father lavish His value and love and pride on this little creature He has created--me?

Earlier this year, I began to see a counselor to help me with PTSD from a near-fatal car accident I was in two years ago.  During our first session, she gave me a list of positive self-affirmations and negative self-talk.  We discussed some of the phrases from the list that I want to come to believe to be true.  I no longer see the counselor, but I have since begun writing these positive phrases in my journal.  I think there is a lot of power in claiming these affirmations in my own writing in my own personal journal.  I also began to rewrite some of the affirmations as truths about God (i.e., God is in control; God can be trusted).

I haven't been very consistent about going to the gym since my cancer surgery, but tonight, amidst a mini emotional meltdown, I knew I just needed to get out of the house and focus my mind on something other than my own unhappiness.  As my endorphins kicked in and I actually began to feel the cloud of depression lifting, I began to say to myself, over and over:

My life is worth living.

And then I added to that:

I am valuable.

And so I pumped those elliptical pedals and chanted to myself, "I am valuable.  My life is worth living.  I am valuable.  My life is worth living."

I have begun to make a list of things I want to commit to doing every day and/or every week in order to nourish my body and soul.  If I feel trapped in my life and want things to go differently, I am the one that needs to take steps to change what is changeable.  I am going to start taking care of myself because I am valuable, and my life is worth living.

He made me valuable.  He gave me a life worth living.

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,

The courage to change the things I can,

And the wisdom to know the difference.

Entrusting My Care to His Hands

No one tells you that when you're diagnosed with cancer, so much of the emotional turmoil and overwhelming nature of the situation won't have to do with the diagnosis at all, but with all the planning involved in having cancer.

My brother commented that it seems unfair for people with cancer to have to plan and pay when they didn't choose illness and all of its life interruptions.

There's the taking time off of work.  Getting shifts covered by co-workers.  Making calls to your insurance company (I thought I hated them before--true medical crisis takes hatred to a whole new level).  Coordinating finances with medical providers.  Tracking down a clear retainer to use in lieu of your nose ring so the piercing doesn't close while in surgery (wait, that one's just me?).

I stare at my computer, switching back and forth between my online banking homepage and my insurance company's summary of benefits.  I try to figure out how this is all going to work.  Why doesn't anyone tell you how expensive and annoying cancer will be?  It's so distracting that you forget why you're making the calls and perusing the websites and adjusting work schedules in the first place.

I contacted my boss earlier to let her know that I will be having surgery on Monday, and that I will need to take next week off if it's not a problem.  Her response made me cry, because it reminded me that this is about my cancer.  She told me she's proud of me and that I'm going to kick this thing's butt.

I was thinking about my sweet Tobin, and how much money I've spent on him over the years without ever batting an eye.  When it comes to caring for him, money is never a question or issue.  I'll do whatever it takes.  And then I realized that I need to extend that same grace towards myself.  I am worth excellent treatment by a skilled physician.  I am worth the cost.  Why do I place his needs so high, while so easily discounting my own?  Why do I apologetically ask my manger for time off to treat my cancer?

Reaching out to people for financial assistance has been hard and good.  Hard, because I feel guilty asking people to help me fight cancer.  Good, because it forces me to not fight cancer alone, which I would be prone to do.  I would isolate myself and place the burden on my own shoulders and not want to inconvenience anyone.

But I realize that instead of being inconvenienced, people experience great joy in providing support.  When it comes to those we love, we think about doing the best for them no matter the cost.  I think sometimes I approach God in that same way, feeling like I am an inconvenience and burden or not believing in the gravity of His love for me.  Having Tobin has allowed me to see that my love for him is not only mirrored by God's love for me, but that God's love is so exponentially beyond the love I'm capable of giving anyone or anything that it's truly beyond my comprehension.  And He is the one in whom my well-being and care is entrusted.

I was told to not let red tape or insurance hoops stand in the way of the best care.  I'm terrified to have my surgery done on Monday, not because they're cutting me open, but because of the bills I know will be arriving in the mail in a few weeks.  But, I'm entrusting myself to the hands of the Greatest Physician and Provider, and trusting that He knows and sees my needs and already has a plan.

Jesus, calm my nerves.

Trading Beauty for Ashes

I've never observed and experienced something so painful and scary turn into something so beautiful and awe-inspiring.

When I woke up this morning, I realized that I already had over $1,000 in cancer treatment donations from friends and family members, and I was moved to tears.  For most of my life, I've been an activist for various causes, and it's always been natural for me to champion a particular group's fight for justice.  When my sister and I were working to create an online place for loved ones to give towards my medical expenses, it felt like we were planning for someone else (typical INFJ that I am, I just can't tolerate the spotlight).  I was distracted from my diagnosis because I was focused on a goal and on spreading awareness.  It wasn't about me.

But then when I awoke to messages of compassion and concern, an outpouring of notes on Facebook and e-mails in my inbox, plus everyone's generous financial gifts, it hit me that all this is about me.  And I realize that it's actually about God, and my family, and a variety of people touched by my life in different ways, but it was the no-strings-attached rallying on my behalf that made me feel more loved than I probably ever have before.

I am reminded that He is with me and for me.  He surrounds me, front and back.  He places His hand upon me.  This unconditional love and rooting for my healing is the tiniest reflection of the depth and extravagance of the love He holds for us.  To contemplate that fact boggles my mind.  These gifts are from Him, this love is of Him.  And so in spite of this past week being one of the hardest of my life, my being forced to rely on the profound love of those around me makes me more aware of Him, and at the end of the day there is nothing more I could want.

Cancer's Lessons on Love

I think for many of us, the word cancer conjures up images of hairless scalps and hospital rooms and colored ribbons and walks for cures.  We think of kids with leukemia and women with breast cancer and smokers with lung cancer.  In terms of media and popular representations of cancer, there is a group of people that seem to totally be skipped over--those from 15 to 39.  Until I was diagnosed, I didn't realize that as a 28-year-old, I thought of cancer as some far-off thing that might happen to me much later in life.  I think I somehow subconsciously thought that if cancer didn't affect me as a child, I would be safe from it until I was elderly, or at least more advanced in age.

Even though I've only known about my cancer for three days, my perspectives regarding and perceptions of the C-word are changing.  I'm learning that it's not all chemotherapy and hospital stays and planning for the end.

What I've discovered after three days of knowing about my cancer (and I write this to sound like a generalized experience, but know that it is actually specific only to me):

1. A diagnosis makes you an insomniac.  You find yourself up at 3AM trolling the Blue Shield and American Association of Endocrine Surgeon websites, trying to find a skilled doctor that is part of your insurance network.  Or, you start Googling the scientific words they used in your biopsy report to figure out what the hell they're actually saying about your cancer cells.
2. You will find yourself in the bathroom a lot.  It will feel like you're getting an ulcer.  Food won't agree with your stomach.  You'll wake up and run immediately to the restroom.  You'll realize that at a time when you should be taking the best care of yourself ever, you end up making poor food choices because the bad foods comfort even if you can't digest them.
3. You will become an experienced ugly-crier, complete with snot over-production, mascara-stained cheeks, and whaling sounds.  The hardest moments will be when you find yourself alone and in a quiet place.  Those are the moments when you don't feel like you have to hold it together or be strong for anyone, and all you'll be able to hear amidst the silence is your conscious reminding you, "I have cancer."

But, in all seriousness, I think the reality of my condition hit about 30 hours after I learned about my diagnosis.  I was driving home from work, and I just started crying uncontrollably.  All day I was assisting customers with their needs, focusing on solving problems and finding what they were looking for, while being totally distracted from my own woes.  But it's once I got in my car and didn't have to smile anymore or be helpful or take care and be supportive of anyone else that I felt the weight of the world on my shoulders.  It's hard to muster up strength to meet people's needs when really you just want to collapse for a while and let someone carry you.  In some ways, going to work has been beneficial because it does serve as a distraction, but I think it's going to take time for me to learn that it's okay to go home and be weak.  He is sufficient to be my strength once I'm not distracted, and He's given me my family to share in His duty of carrying me through this without my having to feel guilty.

And I think that's the hardest part.  Realizing that despite the fact that you're stronger than you ever realized, you're simultaneously weaker than you every dreamed possible.  I guess that's the beauty of His power being made perfect in weakness.  He provides you with strength and hope and courage and tenacity, while also bringing you to terms with your need to seek help and accept compassion and rely on others without being able to offer anything but gratitude in return.  You will likely see an outpouring of love, and all you can do is accept it and realize you deserve it because you're invaluable and that people don't expect you to feel indebted to them in any way.  I guess I'm discovering that cancer teaches you about love.

The Day I Was Diagnosed with Cancer

For posterity's sake, since I'm sure one day I'll want to remember all the details...

It's been nearly 12 hours since my doctor gave me the news, and I think it's just now starting to sink in.  I have thyroid cancer.  I thought I was prepared for this diagnosis and that I expected this diagnosis--but somehow it still left me in a haze for most of the day.

At the beginning of May, I had my annual thyroid ultrasound and learned that my once-tiny nodule had doubled in size over the course of a year.  Because of this, the radiologist who analyzed images from my exam recommended a biopsy to determine the tumor's cytology.  I then had an ultrasound-guided fine needle aspiration biopsy performed on my thyroid last Friday.  Once the doctors tell you that they're seeing something suspicious, you start to brace yourself for the worst.  I had been mentally telling myself that I might have cancer--but still the whole idea of cancer didn't really sink in because I didn't know if I actually had it.  The assignment of that word seems to instantly make things sound a lot more serious.

I anxiously awaited news of the biopsy results from my doctor.  When I got off of work last night, I saw that I had a missed call and voicemail from my endocrinologist.  She didn't leave any specific information in the message, but I knew from her choice of words that it was likely not good.  She didn't indicate that there was no cause for worry, and made it seem very important that I speak with her as soon as I could.  I started to get a little emotional while driving home, and then once I was home and told my mom about the message, I broke down.  Here I had been talking for weeks about the possibility of having cancer, and then the reality hit that I might actually have it after all.  I just kept saying to my mom, "I have a feeling it's going to be bad."

I barely slept last night.  The hours I did sleep were restless, and then I work up nearly 3 hours earlier than I needed to.  I was making myself sick with worry, to the point that I went to the bathroom about 12 times in the span of just a couple hours.  I had to make a smoothie for breakfast because liquids were just about all I could stomach, and I knew I needed some nutrients.  Since my doctor didn't try calling me again last night or first thing in the morning like she had suggested she might, before work I ended up driving over to the imaging center where I had the biopsy done so that I could get a copy of the report.  Unfortunately, the pathology hadn't been faxed to them yet, so I left empty-handed.  Then I tried calling my primary care physician's office to see if they might have a copy of the report, but once again I was unsuccessful.  So, despite my best efforts at quelling the major anxiety I was experiencing, I was forced to continue to wait.

I got to work and couldn't really think about anything except for the fact that my doctor needed to talk to me and that she had the results and I didn't.  It's terrible knowing that the truth is out there, but is being kept from you.  I checked my phone a few times while at work, and saw that I had a missed call from my doctor's medical assistant, asking that I leave a message at their office with some good times that the doctor could call me.  I was so anxious to talk to my endocrinologist by this point that I left my work phone number and told her to call me there.  This situation seemed to grant an exception to a standard no-work-phones-for-personal-use policy.

Less than an hour after I called my doctor's office, the phone rang, my co-worker picked it up and then let me know the call was for me.  I excused myself to my boss's office and took the call there.  I don't remember everything my doctor said in those first few moments we spoke, but I don't think I'll ever forget these words: "They did find some cancer cells."  I was actually relatively calm and collect when she shared the news with me.  She told me about the type of cancer (papillary) and the prognosis (good).  She told me she would send me the names of some excellent surgeons and promised to be with me every step of the way.  She even offered to speak with my mom and explain it all to her.

After the phone call, I walked into the bathroom for a few seconds where I cried, but then quickly composed myself and got back out to the floor.  We've all heard the expression "I felt like I was dreaming," but I think today marks the first time I truly experienced what those words mean.  I was conscious and in my body, but it just sort of felt like everything was going on around me and I was totally detached from it.  Cancer.  Cancer.  Cancer.  At first, saying, "I have cancer," made me cry.  Now it's starting to sound more normal.  My new normal.

I realized that I should tell my manager what was going on, so I pulled her aside into the office and said aloud for the first time, "I have cancer."  She was truly wonderful and compassionate and actually managed to make me crack up amidst all of it, which I think is a gift of hers.  She excused me to make some phone calls and told me to not worry about getting hours covered.  I then called my mom, and for the second time I spoke the words, "I have cancer," and again the tears came.

Today was certainly not my most focused, but somehow I managed to get through a full workday.  While at lunch, I subtly broke the news to Facebook friends. My mom brought me flowers at work.  I contemplated the fact that not a single customer knew that the sales associate helping them was just diagnosed with cancer.

I got off work and returned home in that same foggy mental state.  I talked to my parents for awhile, and I cried fewer tears and had an easier time talking about my cancer.  I have cancer.

And life still goes on.  I ate my regular dinner and did my regular gym routine and the whole world kept on being normal.  Except I can't help but feel like everything's changed now--like my whole life is going to now be marked on a timeline of "before cancer" versus "after cancer."  I think about the fact that soon I will be a member of the group "cancer survivors."  I also think about the post I wrote several weeks ago and said that at least my thyroid disease isn't cancer--but now it is cancer.  One phone call changed me forever.

Before I heard the official news, somewhere amidst trips to the bathroom and the imaging center, I kept thinking about Psalm 139:5.  He goes with me and before me.  His hand is upon me.  Knowing that He's prepared the way and is not surprised by this and that nothing's changed for Him comforts me, because right now amidst all the changes I can be sure that He will be steadfast and unchanging.  I have peace and hope because I know that He is my Great Physician and oversees my life and health.

Once the diagnosis came and news had time to settle, the verse that came to mind was Psalm 23:4.  Even when I walk through darkness, He's with me.  There is nothing to fear.

I know it might take a few days to truly process the news, but overall I have actually been impressed by my own resiliency (and I say that with sincere humility).  Somehow the word "cancer" makes me feel like I should be freaking out, but, despite my shock, I'm actually not all that surprised.  I think somewhere deep down I knew this was coming.  He goes before me and guides me.  He leads me to green pastures and still waters.  He restores my soul and fills my cup to overflowing.